But I Know What I Like
by Serenade
Summary: Clark has a secret.


BUT I KNOW WHAT I LIKE

a Smallville fic

by Serenade

Summary: Clark has a secret.

* * *

"Clark, what are you doing?"

Of all the times Lex had dropped into the barn unannounced, chances were he would catch Clark doing one of three things: spying on Lana Lang, moping, or moping over Lana Lang.

This time, what it looked like Clark was doing was sitting on the hastily rearranged couch, cushions plumped into place with telltale askewness.

Clark smiled up at Lex sunnily. "Nothing much. Just relaxing." He didn't seem to be aware of the corner of paper sticking out from behind one of the cushions, crinkling slightly as Clark leaned back.

Lex eyed him with amusement. "You're not reading porn, are you?" He leaned forward to pluck the pages from their hiding place, but in a blur of motion Clark snatched them away.

"It's nothing like that."

Lex raised an eyebrow. "You're not convincing me of your innocence here."

"It's just something I was doing for class. Sort of."

Lex could see that Clark was clutching a large, thin notebook in his arms. He thought he recognised what it was.

"Come on, Clark. I'm not going to laugh at you. I promise." He reached out a hand; after a brief hesitation, Clark passed the notebook over.

"Remember, you promised not to laugh."

As Lex suspected, it was a sketchbook. He leafed through the pages: black and white sketches of still life, animals, local landscapes. Most were pencil sketches, but there were a few in ink and charcoal.

"Not bad. I didn't know you drew."

"I don't, not really. I'm taking a life drawing class after school. It's the first time I've done anything like it, so I figured I should get some practice in."

"Mm. So you're interested in art, are you, Clark?" Lex was already planning possible excursions to galleries in Metropolis. There was a Botticelli exhibition opening this weekend, he recalled.

Then he noticed Clark's spreading blush, and his heart sank. "Let me guess," he said, trying to keep his voice light and ironic. "The inestimable Miss Lang has a penchant for art."

"She's been really excited about this class," Clark said. "But Whitney refused to sign up with her. Said drawing's for girls and-um. Anyway. She seemed really disappointed, so I said I'd go with her."

"Devotion beyond the call of duty," Lex agreed.

Clark went on, "Now I'm not sure it was such a good idea. I don't even know what I'm doing! Everyone's going to laugh at me."

"Relax, Clark. People are there because they think they still have something to learn, not because they're perfect. Besides," and he passed the sketchbook back to Clark, "these are pretty decent for someone who's a beginner. Even Michaelangelo didn't just pick up a brush and start making masterpieces. All you need is practice."

Clark brooded on that, cupping his chin in his hands. "Do you really think so?"

"Trust me, Clark. Would I lie to you about something like that?"

"I think you'd tell me anything if you thought it would make me feel better."

Lex was about to protest when Clark looked up and smiled. "I do feel better. Thanks."

Lex felt a smile melt onto his own face under the radiance of Clark's expression. "You know I'll do anything I can to help you."

"Yeah. I know." Clark shot a speculative look at him. "Hey, Lex. Would you be willing to model for me?"

That, he wasn't expecting. Lex raised an eyebrow. "Do I have to take off my clothes?"

Clark crimsoned. "No! God, Lex, what a question to ask."

"You don't have to sound so horrified, Clark. Despite outward appearances-" Lex ran a hand over his bare head-"I'm a normal human being underneath."

"I know," Clark murmured.

"Clark?"

"Uh, I mean, it doesn't matter, if it's practice. I can just sketch you normally. Withyourclotheson," he added hastily.

"Whatever suits you, Clark."

"Right," Clark said. Lex observed that the colour in Clark's face seemed to be remarkably long-lasting.

"Clark."

"What?"

"You have charcoal on your nose."

"Oh." Clark lifted a hand to rub at the mark, which only served to smear it further.

"Here, let me." Lex pulled a silk handkerchief from his shirt pocket and wiped it down the bridge of Clark's nose. Clark's eyelids fluttered closed; a tremor passed through his lashes.

With gentle, methodical strokes, Lex brushed the last remnants of soot from Clark's skin. He stepped back. "There you go."

Clark's eyes opened. "Thanks." His voice sounded low and throaty.

Their gazes locked for several seconds. Then Lex smiled with regret. "I should go."

"Wait." Clark caught at Lex's arm. "You didn't answer my question."

"Would I model for you? It's not something I've ever been asked to do before. But in this case, I'd be happy to."

"That's great! Thanks, Lex. Can I come over tomorrow afternoon?"

"Sure." Lex made a mental note to clear his schedule.

"And, um, Lex?"

"Yes, Clark?"

"Would you really be willing to model with your clothes off?"

\- fin -


End file.
